Safehouse
by DanielCrayon
Summary: Neither of them saw the Deathclaw until it was too late, and now the closest town for medical supplies is miles away. Sole just hopes Deacon can make it that long.
1. Chapter 1

Deacon had seen his fair share of gruesome things that the Commonwealth had to offer. Hell, it's in the job description. But when he started traveling with the Sole Survivor, he began to experience those sorts of things from a whole new perspective. That is to say, up close and personal. The fact that they happened on a daily basis was also something that had not gone unnoticed.

Before, he mostly dealt with people and ghouls. He was intelligence, not a tank. His expertise was hiding in the shadows, striking hard and fast then getting out unseen. He almost never got hurt, but when he did it wasn't pretty. That's not to say he was unfamiliar with pain, everyone who was in the Wasteland knew pain on intimate levels. And besides the pain that came with regular facial reconstruction surgeries, he'd been brutally wounded in the fall of the Railroad's last HQ while helping others escape.

He preferred to deal with his pains, mental and physical alike, on his own. The less people who knew about him and his capabilities, the better. The Railroad knew his tendency to hide his wounds, but they knew better than to comment on it. That hadn't stopped since he started traveling with Sole, but infuriatingly enough, the man would call him out on it when he'd been barely grazed by a raider's bullet or something. It was minor, but Sole had insisted on treating it.

Deacon wasn't sure how he felt about that.

He didn't like relying on others for help, the moment you do, they fail you. That was his mindset for the longest time, but the pre-war man was slowing changing it. Even though he still wasn't comfortable having his injuries treated by others, at this point, it was more out of habit than anything else.

The Sole Survivor hadn't been severely injured since Deacon came around, which was a miracle, considering the amount of time they had been traveling together. It'd been several months, but really neither of them had kept close track. If Deacon had any say about it, the Survivor would never be hurt under his watch, hell, he'd jump in front of a Behemoth if it came to it. He was expendable, the Sole Survivor was not. Or at least that was how he viewed it. He hadn't realized it, but this fierce protectiveness in him had grown steadily throughout their time together, and even before if he was being honest with himself. But it was firmly rooted there now and Deacon didn't mind.

They had been traveling North towards Mercer's safe house and found themselves in a rather desolate isolated area. In their time in this part of the 'Wealth they had only encountered a couple wild mongrels and snuck past a gunner camp they decided wouldn't be worth it to attack, but besides that it had been a harmonious journey. It was peaceful, the week before had been filled with super mutants and placing Tinker Tom's MILAs in the inner city. They decided taking a break from the towering buildings and dark alleys by checking on the refuge to the west, Sole decided it would be a nice change of pace, and Deacon, as always, followed his lead.

As a general rule Deacon avoided being out in the open. The Sole Survivor often made jokes about his paranoia regarding snipers, but it wasn't without reason. In the past he had several close encounters with snipers, and had sniped a few targets himself. Once you do that, it's hard not to look around and see all the best spots someone could be watching from a distance. There were no tall buildings here though, it was mostly barren trees and underbrush. It was hilly however, and he swiped his gaze under groves where Yao Guai might be concealed.

They had decided to pass the time swapping stories, Deacon was always exaggerating his to the extent it was unclear if there was any authenticity at all. He liked adding one or two bits of truth with a bunch of lies, and it often confused people. Sole knew him by now though, and often tried to decipher what actually happened. It'd become a game for them to pass the time. Deacon knew most of the Sole Survivor's stories from the waste, and no, he was definitely not stealing them. He always asked to hear something from before the war, if it wasn't too painful. Sole usually obliged with retelling popular entertainment Deacon didn't have access to, most common being old TV broadcasts.

The sun had just reached its peak in the sky and the blazing light filtered down. The Sole Survivor was enthralled talking about some pre-war television show he used to enjoy watching. Deacon wasn't paying much attention to it, which was unusual since he'd normally be riveted alongside, making sarcastic comments or asking questions. He didn't want to be rude but he was distracted by the sun-kissed skin of the other's face, and the scrunch in the corners of his eyes caused by his excitement for the old stories. The Survivor hadn't noticed his lack of participation in the conversation, being too absorbed talking about someplace with lots and snow and crime. Absently Deacon wondered if there was still snow there.

It was in that moment when they both heard, or rather, felt, large booming footsteps. They froze, Sole stopping mid-sentence and Deacon crouching. Both scanned the area. The feeling or rumbling increased, accompanied by the distinctive noise of a Deathclaw's breathing. Together they had taken out lots of Deathclaws, but in the position where they were, they didn't know where this one was, just that it was close. Side by side, and slowly, they made their way towards a rather thick underbrush.

Deacon knew it wouldn't hide their scent from the beast if it happened to wander over, or happened to be down wind, but they might be able to confuse it for a few seconds and get a sneak attack. In the corner of his vision, he saw Sole pull out Kellogg's pistol. He found it interesting. It seemed to be his favorite weapon, alongside Deliverer which wasn't exactly the best for a Deathclaw, but Sole smirked at Deacon, like he had a plan. Deacon returned the gesture and pulled out a shotgun, he didn't feel like his usual finesse today, and if Sole was going to have him lug around extra weapons, he might as well use them.

They were still side-by-side, a tree behind them and a bush in front. The sound of the beast's steps had stopped somewhere nearby, but they could still hear its breath. It inhaled slowly, having likely caught their scent.

Deacon heard the Sole Survivor take a deep breath himself, probably trying to calm his nerves. Before he met Deacon, he had a terrifying encounter with one by himself, though there really wasn't much else to be said besides that he obviously made it out alive

.

Deacon continued to scan the area visible through the bush. Sole did the same. The trees were pulling tricks on their eyes and they heard breaking branches where there were none. Deacon noticed an alcove off to the right of his partner where a thick tree blocked his vision. He could've sworn he'd seen movement. He signaled Sole that he was moving, and to stay in position, Sole nodded his head in confirmation.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Sole to quietly move with him, 'cause he did. Sole was one of the only people he had met who could be as stealthy as himself, it was just that the man had a tendency to be trigger happy in unknown situations.

Deacon slid his pack off his back quietly. It'd weigh him down if something nasty happened. He crept around his partner and ducked under a thick limb of a tree.

The footsteps started again, somewhere nearby. He started scanning once again, still, nothing. His pace quickened.

When he finally got a good view of the alcove that had grabbed his attention before, there didn't seem to be any signs of a Deathclaw. He wandered slowly closer, hair rising on the back of his neck, and goosebumps forming. The air was thick with the scent of blood that often accompanied the beasts.

He'd wanted to know where the beast was so that they could plan an attack rather than cower at the base of a tree waiting for it to leave. The idea had sounded good in his mind, but now that he was actually thinking about it…

Deacon nervously rolled his shoulders and continued. He noted he was starting to get pretty far away from Sole, so he looked back and realized he was in the blind spot from before. He couldn't see Sole, and then in the corner of his eye, red glinted and he turned. He saw what had been hiding from his line of sight.

It was the bloody gored body of a Radstag doe, eyes still open and staring endlessly. They'd walked up to a Deathclaw that was mid meal. His eyes widened under his sunglasses.

Two shots rang out.

He turned on his heel, and without thought, sprinted back to Sole.

More gunshots.

Goddamnit, why did I leave him? He should've come with me. Fuck, of all the times to make a dumb fucking mistake.

Small twigs of branches whipped his face, nearly knocking off his wig and glasses, several scratching his cheekbones and neck. His ears were filled with the rush of blood and the world seemed painfully clear.

When he saw the Sole Survivor, it was like he'd taken a hit of cheap Jet.

The Deathclaw was standing right there, too close, far too close, and Deacon saw the look on Sole's face. They'd been together long enough that he recognized that expression. The Sole Survivor's clip had run out.

Deacon almost froze, but his training kicked in and he pushed forwards. The beast roared and raised the jagged nails of its namesake. Shotgun still in hand, he fired without stopping his sprint, but the mutated abomination didn't even flinch.

He dashed even closer and Sole turned his face to Deacon, his expression growing horrified as he realized what the agent was about to do.

And then they collided, Deacon's arms wrapped around sole as they toppled to the ground, his back towards the enraged Deathclaw.

Impossibly hot pain seared through him, stripes of white fire streaking across his shoulder and back, and then he was in the air, being flung out of the way like a ragdoll. He hit a tree as the Sole Survivor realized this was the time, he reloaded his gun and got between the Deathclaw and Deacon.

He aimed for its head, and missed, grazed it neck. His hands were shaking, his mind running with the possibility that they weren't going to survive this. He shot again, but his legs gave out from underneath him, and he fell to his knees. This was it then.

But a wild form came from seemingly out-of-nowhere and rammed into his assailant, a Radstag buck. Sole didn't know what it was doing, but he was glad for the distraction. He dropped his arms and crawled to his vulnerable companion, watching as the buck rammed the beast again. The mutant deer ceased its assault and ran off in the direction of the alcove Deacon had been checking out earlier. The deathclaw followed closely and maneuvered out of sight.

"Did I get 'em boss?" A wheezy voice asked, Sole sighed thankful that he was conscious. A hand reached up for assistance in standing, and was obliged quickly.

"Not exactly bud, we need to get out of here before he remembers us," Sole murmured back, "Thank God for that Radstag."

"Wait, I need to get my pack, got all the extra stuff in there-"

"We don't have time for that, we can come back later, but for now we just need to get out of here."

Deacon sighed in response, grimace on his face as they started in the direction they came from. The noises of a fight weren't far behind, and Sole wanted to quicken the pace. But he was pretty sure Deacon was severely hurt, though it all had happened so fast, too fast, and he hadn't been able to keep track of what had happened.

"You alright Deacon? It looked like he got you good, but I didn't really see anything other than you flying through the air really…" he asked between breaths.

"I'm fine, nothing to worry about, let's just get out of here," said Deacon, but he wasn't actually sure about the full extent of his injuries. Adrenaline and Endorphins still ran through his system, dulling most pains.

Besides, whatever it was, he could deal with it on his own like he'd always done.

The sounds were distant now. Their surroundings were still wooded, but chances were that the Deatchlaw had given up any chance of catching them, so they stopped to catch their breaths. In almost an instant, they were traversing the underbrush again. Both were eager to be out of the open.

"Well, that happened," said Deacon.

The sole survivor chuckled a bit and stretched his arms out, his shoulders audibly popping. His hands were still trembling.

"Indeed it did buddy, indeed it did," and after a beat, he added, "We should try to find a spot to stop for the night, after all that excitement, it might be a good idea."

Deacon nodded, and Sole couldn't help but notice the lines of exhaustion covering his companion's face. It was understandable, he thought, and even more reason to find cover and make camp as soon as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

Deacon and the Sole Survivor came across several places that would work as shelter, but they eventually settled on a small shallow cave. The dead forest had grown thicker as they traversed through, but there was flowing water nearby and a distinct lack of Mirelurks or Bloodbugs. So they decided it was satisfactory enough.

After scouting the area and establishing some sense of comfort and safety, Deacon and the Sole Survivor began to relax. Sole pulled off his pack and let it drop to the ground loudly. He groaned as he stretched his newly freed back, the lack of weight on his shoulders was blissful.

He began to rummage through his sack, looking for food. They hadn't actually sat down to eat since even before the Deathclaw attack. Sole was glad they decided to split the food between their packs for instances such as this, but he was also worried that the food inside Deacon's would attract animals to the abandoned clothes, and more importantly, the junk and weapons inside. They'd spent forever collecting the materials that they'd need for some repair work and construction at the safehouse. He pulled out a box of sugar bombs, and smiled lightly when he looked up and saw Deacon standing near the entrance of their little hideout. He was leaning against the cave wall, staring at the Sole Survivor thoughtfully.

 _He looks a bit tense,_ Sole thought to himself.

After a beat of silence of the two of them watching each other, Deacon took a couple steps forward and began to speak, "Hey while you're still poking through that thing, you mind if I borrow a shirt? This one got a bit roughed up, and well, my stuff…"

Deacon trailed off, hands held helplessly in front of him.

Sole beamed at him, and started digging around again, sugar bombs set aside and momentarily forgotten. The inside of Sole's bag was a mess, jumbles of junk in every nook and cranny, along with various food items and ammo. Junk started spilling out of pockets of his bag, evidently Sole stored his extra clothing at the very bottom, and his lack of organizational skills made it an ordeal to reach. Deacon shuffled forward and opened the box of sugary puffs and popping a few in his mouth while he waited, watching Sole's hands as they worked deftly.

Usually Deacon would be making fun of his companion's hoarding tendencies, but with the calm that'd settled, the adrenaline from earlier had quickly dissipated. There wasn't anything to quell the throbbing pain from the lines that covered his back, which put a damper on his usual good spirits. When he would otherwise be standing watchfully, he was languid. Though his exhaustion would easily go unnoticed by anyone who wasn't used to his nuances.

Finally, the Sole Survivor grinned as he presented a collared grey button down. Its edges were a bit frayed, and a button was missing, but besides that it was in surprisingly good condition. Deacon smiled in return and grabbed it.

"Thanks, I'd promise to take care of it, but…" he trailed off as their fingers lingered slightly when they touched. He coughed before continuing "That's not a, uh, very easy promise to keep… considering our line of work."

He quickly backed away and walked stiffly towards the entrance of the cave. Sole chuckled, starting to put away all the random things that had fallen out out of his bag.

Once Deacon was outside and out of view, he pulled off his wig and folded his glasses as he walked. It'd be hard enough getting his shirt off without worrying about those getting in the way. When the small creek they'd discovered earlier was in view he started tugging off his shirt. The fabric brushed against the breaks in his skin, and he hissed through his teeth at the painful pull. There'd be no saving this shirt, what wasn't ripped and torn was splotched in blood. Despite that, he had hidden it quite well from the Sole Survivor. Which was alarmingly easy as the man lacked any sense of perception.

Deacon couldn't see how deep the wound was, but if the amount of blood on his shirt was any indication, he'd gotten off lucky. If it was even an inch deeper, or at a slightly different angle, the Deathclaw could have permanently disabled his right arm.

He slowed his pace as he made it to the creek's edge, and knelt down to cup some water in his hands. It was irradiated, just like the rest of the water in the area, but he needed to wash off. Dried blood was crusted onto his back and he didn't want to get it on Sole's shirt.

The water was cold, goosebumps were forming along his arms as he poured it down his back. The familiar tingling of radiation buzzed along the watery tracks. He figured he could use a dose or two of radaway later if needed.

He carefully traced the three long lines along his back, from the top of his right shoulder to the center of his spine, removing any dirt he felt. Contorting his arms around to his back reopened the barely sealed wounds. He sighed in frustration, and continued to wash off slowly. Through the cool water, he could feel the flesh around the openings were hot and puffed up. Neither of them had any stimpacks as they'd ran out a few days ago, so he filed that away to check on later when he had the time and medicine.

Deacon folded his ruined shirt in half. The dirtied half hidden, and reached towards his back with it in hand, skin stretching uncomfortably. He blotted his back gently, soaking up blood in an attempt to stanch the wound.

He knelt by the water until he was satisfied he'd stopped the bleeding well enough. Then he dunked what remained of his shirt into the creek and started scrubbing it. They could probably use the cloth for something, Sole did tend use everything he could get his hands on.

He slipped on the shirt Sole had given him and his glasses, and with his Pompadour wig in hand, he made his way back to their hideout. It was starting to get late, and the horizon was tinged dark with storm clouds. He hoped it was only a normal one, he'd be willing to put up with traveling in the rain to get to the safehouse, but radiation was something they'd have to stay in for. Another day without progress was something he'd prefer to avoid.

Breaking the line of trees to their small clearing, he noticed Sole had started a fire. He groaned in appreciation when he was in range of the heat, and raised his palms towards it. It was nice warming up after being doused in cold creek water. Sole wasn't within sight, so he shrugged to himself and settled in by the fire, throwing small twigs nearby into it. He spread his wet ripped shirt out on a rock nearby to dry it.

Fast winds blew the smoke around, the direction seemed to change randomly, the intensity of the winds were also changing, sometimes blowing sparks too close for his liking. He shifted to make himself more comfortable when he saw the box of sugar bombs from earlier, half-emptied. he hadn't realized how hungry he was until he saw it, but thinking about eating make his stomach flip.

He chalked it down to radiation from the water, and decided he should probably eat against the nausea. He pulled the box beside him. Slowly, he popped each sugar bomb into his mouth individually, and let them melt before continuing. He sat in silence for a while, listening to the crackling of the fire, and the sound of the steam. Usually he was quite attentive, but his eyes glazed over and he stared at the fire mindlessly.

The fire flickered towards him and smoke flared into his face. It burned his eyes, and he moved to get up when he heard chuckling. Sole was back.

"Don't try to move, it'll just follow you. Don't you know the saying? Smoke follows beauty?" said Sole. Deacon only snorted in response and got up to move anyways. Without the smoke in his face now, Deacon saw that Sole was carrying a bunch of wood.

 _Ah, so that's what he's been doing._

"Let me help with that. Let's put it in the cave, looks like it's gonna rain later," Deacon grabbed an arm load out of Sole's stack, skin on his back protesting. He slowed his pace and lead the Sole Survivor in the direction of their cave.

"Sooo, what have you been up to? Kind of disappeared there for a while," said Sole, dropping the stack of wood in the spot Deacon indicated.

"Oh, I was just washing off by the creek. Felt all gross and sweaty, and I figured creek water would be as good as any," Deacon replied, dusting his hands off.

"You probably could've just waited for the rain and showered in that to be honest," Sole replied looking to the sky. It was darker still. "We should probably move the fire in too."

Deacon nodded in agreement.

It was a matter of minutes after they moved the fire when the downpour started. Deacon had just barely save Sole's bag, which the man almost forgot outside.

With the combined matter of two men, a fire, and Sole's mess of a bag, there was little room to move. The cave was more of a netch in the side of hill that happened to have overcovering. The possibility of an oncoming storm hadn't played a role when they were looking for a place to camp, but after months of traveling together, personal space didn't mean much.

Sole was sprawled out by the fire, using his bag as a pillow. He stared at the ceiling, chattering about what camping trips were like pre-war.

Deacon held his back to wall of the cave. The rock was cold, but it helped sooth the burning sensation of his back. He had a good view of both his partner and the entrance. So far, the storm hadn't yet turned into a radiation one, but he felt dread in the pit of his stomach.

"...and then we would roast marshmallows, mine always got burnt. Nora liked them that way, so I'd give my mess ups to her, so I didn't mind so much," Sole was still talking, he mimicked different actions and started to wave his hands around. He turned his head to look at Deacon, quieting down for a second. "You can go to sleep bud, I don't mind. I know my stories can get a bit rambly sometimes."

"Nah, I like listening to your stories," Deacon replied.

"I just don't want to keep you up. You seem tired," said Sole.

"I'm fine, just worried about this storm. Don't want to wait out here for too long."

"That's true, guess we'll find out in the morning," said Sole. They sat in companionable silence for a while, listening to the heavy rain and rustle of the wind through the branches. After a particularly loud pop of the fire, Deacon moved to add more wood to it.

He felt the eyes of his companion on his back.


End file.
